God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods #3) by Rina Kent

“Why?” he asks, his tone curious instead of accusatory.

“Because I want to.”

“Why would you want to?”

“I told you. Because I want to get to know you.”

“Spending the night won’t allow you to get to know me.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a start.”

And I will fight tooth and nail to get a say in whatever we have.





23





JEREMY





What the fuck am I doing?

None of this is going to plan, and I can’t find a name for whatever ‘this’ is.

It’s as confusing as the girl who’s causing the whole fucked-up change. I hate change, especially when I haven’t anticipated it. There’s nothing more irritating than being in a situation I can’t predict.

I thought I knew Cecily Knight, that I’d found her buttons and identified everything that makes her tick.

But then again, watching or going through her things might’ve been the easiest part of understanding the girl who’s now sleeping wrapped around me.

This scene happened after she announced that she’d be staying the night.

She shouldn’t want to stay the night. I was fully expecting her to run after she saw me pummel her fucking prince. I had every intention of hunting the fuck out of her if that were the case, but still, the fact that she not only didn’t run but also came here early brought about an unwelcome change.

When I felt her presence behind me, I was overtaken by a powerful emotion that was novel to me. Because instead of nursing the fucker’s wounds, she came to me.

She chose me.

Or did she?

This could be a game she plotted with that motherfucker.

I wasn’t rooting for Lan.

Those were her words from earlier, bristling and dripping with unmatched honesty.

I release a long breath, and as if feeling my distress, Cecily buries her face further into my chest, mumbling something unintelligible.

My fingers glide in her silver hair, smoothing it down, and she goes slack against me, her small hand barely touching my shoulder. Her legs tucked in my lap and her tiny body pressed against mine.

Any other person would’ve fallen into this peaceful moment, taken it for what it is, and thought about everything else afterward.

I fucking can’t.

My pragmatic nature forbids it and I can’t erase everything that I know thus far.

Such as the fact that she’s liked Landon for years or that she called his name after sex. It was only that one time, but it fucking counts. Because every time after we’re finished, I wait for her to say the fucker’s name.

And every time, I resist the urge to slam my hand over her mouth so she doesn’t.

Even now, I’m waiting for her to whisper the word and dig her own grave.

Why the fuck would she trust me enough to stay and even sleep on my lap?

I could throw her in the lake and watch as she panics and chokes on the water. Maybe I should do that, after all, to quench these chaotic feelings.

Something stops me, though.

As much as I want to punish her, to eradicate the name of that motherfucker from her vocabulary, I actually don’t want to hurt her.

Deep down, Cecily has become part of who I am. I can’t be the cause of her pain.

At least, not outside of sex.

With a sigh, I gather her in my arms bridal style and stride in the direction of the house.

Her head falls on my shoulder and she moans softly, the sound sending a signal straight to my cock.

My beast demands that I strip her bare, let her run, then fuck her. It doesn’t matter that I have her every night and more than once. The moment I’m done, I want more.

There’s this constant need to be inside her and never allow her out of my sight.

During the day, I think about the coming night and how she’ll give in to her instincts and me. During the night, I think about how a few hours are not fucking enough.

There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have her at my disposal every second of every minute of every day, however and wherever I please.

My beast wants to cage her here, lock the doors, and forbid her from leaving. She might fight at the beginning, but she’d have no choice once I erased every escape route.

But that would mean losing the fire that simmers inside her, the fight, and…the life.

She’s so full of life, despite some of her dissociating episodes that are becoming fewer and farther between.

They still happen, though. A part of her is trapped in that hotel room two years ago with the fucker who will soon lose everything.

I’ve got someone looking into him, his family, and the fucking skeletons in his closet. Once I have all the information I need, his life will be over.

As soon as we’re inside, I lay Cecily on the sofa and cover her with a light blanket. Then I sit on the chair opposite her, elbow on the armrest and chin leaning on my fist.

This is what I do whenever she falls asleep or if I’m following her from afar. I watch, think, and try to decide what I’m going to do with her.

What started as a game of twisted lust and beastly desire is turning into dangerous possessiveness and a deranged obsessiveness I can’t put a halt to.

My phone vibrates and I stand, then go outside, closing the door behind me.

I answer with, “You have something for me?”

“No hello, how is my favorite uncle doing?” Yan says with an incredulous tone from the other end.